Event - Heavy

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Heavy

➥ Deep

(cw: claustrophobia, existential dread, power loss, victim-blaming, time distortion, supernatural compulsion and hunger)

After the cold snap and plumbing issues comes the calm. For a few days, at least, nothing seems to break. Or break more than normal where the Flophouse is concerned. A heavy snow sweeps through and covers the streets. Not a blizzard, but thick white fluff that forms a blanket overnight. The snowplows aren't prepared and it's simply… quiet. People stay indoors, waiting for the weather to clear a bit. There are light flurries throughout the next few days, topping off the snowfall, and for the most part, the city just shuts down.

Even ADI puts out a notice that employees should stay home. Stay safe, stay cocooned in what warmth you have. Just… stay. Each day the message comes out from a generic work email, help@adi.com:

Shelter in place. No work today. Stay safe. We'll get by without you.

The next day is the same. The snow piles higher overnight, covering windows and freezing doors shut.

Shelter in place. No work today. Stay safe. We're s̴̳͘͠ͅt̶̨͂̍r̵̯̼͊͝ŭ̷͚̳g̶̠͋̓g̴̳̱̔͘l̸̤̻̎i̷̭͑͠ń̵̗͜͝g̷̤͂, but we'll get by.

Day after day. Frost creeps into the corridors of the ADI housing complex and the Flophouse. There is no food or other supplies coming and it feels like the hours are stretching out more and more.

Shelter in place. No work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. We can't keep doing this, but we have to.

Attempts to leave the housing areas will be met with walls of snow that appear to be impossibly high. Around the flophouse, especially, it's as though they've been placed into the bottom of an icy hole. The walls stretch up higher than anyone can climb or fly, with only a pinprick of bluish light coming down from the opening above, deeper than anyone can dig through. Not even a magical portal or beam of heat can get through. There's just a wall of snow and/or ice through the portal and more snow beyond the beam. What's more, anyone who has supernatural abilities or is tied to a patron, even those not actively trying to feed that patron, will find themselves feeling increasingly drained, like something is sapping away whatever reserves they have, leaving them hungrier and hungrier, their powers waning by the minute, with a very limited set of options to feed upon.

S̸͉͗ḣ̷̦ȩ̵͒l̷͈̍t̸͎̽e̵̺̓ř̵̠ in place. No work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. Why aren't they coming? This is their fault.

S̶͔͆h̸̅ͅȅ̴̮l̵̬̈́t̷̯́e̴̥̐ř̷̙ ̶̳̕ì̷̲n̵͓͌ ̷̮̋p̵̟̈́l̶̢̎a̷̺͠c̷̻̈́ḙ̵̊.̷̦̇ ̴̬̀N̸͕͌o̵͎̊ work today. S̴̬̓t̸͉̿a̴̫̿ỳ̸͉ ̸̠̉s̸̲͆a̶͙͊f̶̢̏ē̷̤. Why aren't ỹ̸̡͐ͅô̷͕̫ù̶̟̣͊ coming? Ḟ̴͓i̷̤͗x̶̨͝ ̴̜͒t̵̯̅h̴͔͛i̸͖̽s̶̱̚!

((ooc: Plain text versions of all messages are located here (LINK). You can also hover your mouse over the distorted text for hover text translations.))

➥ Chasm

(cw: warped perceptions, memory-loss, implied trauma, supernaturally-induced feelings of missing out)

You've missed a step.

After what seems an interminable time, someone is finally able to tunnel through, to get out of the massive snowy prison everyone has been trapped in and-

And the city looks normal. Checking the wall you just came through, it's not actually there. As soon as one person makes it out, the effect collapses for everyone. There's a wintry wonderland of Gloucester beyond, and it seems like things have gone on without everyone. But there is a sense in the air that something has happened, something earth-shattering that everyone missed out on.

People on the streets seem to have a look about them. Haunted? Something happened, but when they're questioned about it, they can't seem to come up with an answer as to what. They just seem… confused, overwhelmed. Yes, something happened. No, they can't tell you what. Weren't you here for it? Didn't you see it? Didn't you feel it? How could you have missed something that big?

That feeling will sit with characters as time passes, dragging down on them. It may even begin to feel like a physical weight for the most affected. You missed it. You could have done something to change things, but you missed it.

➥ Stuck

(cw: flooding; natural disasters; damage to homes, workplaces, and possessions; references to burial, suffocation, crushing, and murder; supernaturally induced anxiety, responsibility fatigue, and feelings of inadequacy; illness.)

The feeling of having missed something only intensifies back at ADI headquarters. It looks as though the storm itself attacked the building; several exterior doors have been broken off their hinges, ice expanded within the metal past its breaking point, and the expansive water damage and muck ground into the carpets, walls, and battered elevators conjure images of an indoor avalanche…or a glacier pushing its way through, slow but biting cold and utterly inexorable.

There's no time to dwell on what's happened, on the days of hunger and isolation nor whatever disaster occurred here. There's too much to do, too much to fix, one crisis after another. There's the obvious problem: the need to repair the building and proof it against the cold wind that still blows in across the foyer, but no matter one's work area there is more to do than can be done. Endless requests and projects flood in from every quarter, all of them urgent, all of them important. As soon as one thing is finished, three more problems emerge: contracts to manage, investigations to be made into reported phenomena, glitching computers to repair, vandals to repel from the gaping wound that is the lobby entrance in the middle of the night–the list goes on, and on, and on.

Rumors circulate, stories about a prisoner in the depths of the building's secret basements who disappeared into the crushing ice and grit that had filled the cells, disagreements about whether it was a rescue or if the unnamed prisoner was suffocated, snuffed out by some indiscriminately vengeful force. No one seems to know the truth; no one even seems to know the name of the prisoner, who they were, what they had done to end up there. No one has the time to look too deeply into it; even head of security Neil Grace, is caught leaping from task to task, never catching up long enough to turn his attention to the matter in any meaningful capacity.

The struggle to keep up, the futile effort to keep one's head above water, never relents. No matter one's priorities at work or at home, something is always wrong, always in need of attention, the knowledge of things undone needling at the edge of consciousness like a toothache in one's soul. The Flophouse is in a disastrous state worse even than ADI headquarters, a wild-eyed Bonnie all but pouncing on residents with an endless list of tasks to fix it, to make the building livable again. At the ADI apartments, exhausted caretaker Benny Holt seems to traipse up and down the halls at all hours of the day and night with his toolbelt, gaunt and exhausted and tapping at doors in reply to requests to fix plumbing, lighting, and water damage that never seem to stay fixed. Local staff and interdimensional residents alike begin to fall ill, bodies and minds burning out under the strain, but giving yourself time to rest and heal means piling more work on those around you.

There is no time. There is no rest. There is only the work you are failing to complete.

➥ Sink

(cw: claustrophobia, suffocation or near-suffocation)

As if that isn’t enough, there’s still investigative work to be done. Once again, it seems as if Coffins Beach is a site of interest, as ADI has been tipped off that there might be something (or things) in the water. Again.

For safety’s sake - and perhaps to make sure that no one collapses out there alone - pairs are sent out to the beach to keep an eye on the water and to see if anything interesting has washed up. Orders are to both watch the water and walk along the beaches and through the dunes nearby.

Watching the water doesn't seem to yield any results, no matter how long it's observed. Nothing washes ashore either. But then there's the dunes. Sooner or later, it seems like climbing them and walking among them is all there is to do. Anyone who has spent any time at Coffins Beach might notice that they seem a bit larger than they have been in months past. Not inconceivably, but noticeably. There are dunes tall enough to scale the sides up to the top, though some are still no more than little mounds.

It doesn't matter which, when you fall into it. Small hill or gentle mound, one minute you’re walking on the surface. The next minute, as you put your foot down, it begins to sink. It can't be sinking, of course, sand dunes on a beach don't have quicksand. They’re nothing but dense piles of sand. You can't fall into a sand dune.

You are falling into a sand dune. There’s a hole in the sand, just wide enough for your body and you have fallen into it. Perhaps you're a little bit lucky and your partner witnessed it. Maybe you aren't and you suddenly just disappear. It's a long fall, though, down a tube of sand that seems hard-packed around the edges. At first. The drop is just far enough that light can be seen from above, but not the top of the hole itself. Call out. You might be heard. And maybe your partner is already trying to get you out.

But the moment you hit the bottom, it seems like the hole becomes unstable. Especially if someone is above and trying to reach down. Even if they're not, though, sand begins to crumble from the edges and sides of the tunnel, falling down on the body trapped at the bottom of it. A slow trickle, not a burial. Not yet. Still, it could be, if rescue doesn't come, if the person left up above can't dig you out. Meanwhile, the sand falls and falls, pressing down on limbs and creeping up your body. It’s cold and struggling only seems to make the sand fall faster.

Surely you’ll be rescued before it covers you completely. Or soon after. Surely.

➥ Mod Notes

• GENERAL - Players are welcome to play NPCs for themselves when they are needed in a thread. If you need more information on general behavior for these types of NPCs, please feel free to ask! In general, the information provided in the prompts should be sufficient and ordinary people will act like… ordinary people! You're welcome to make up any details beyond that for your specific scene. Please remember that character deaths are permanent and plan accordingly!
  
  
• DEEP (16-20 February) - Characters will be trapped in their homes for five days, confined to either the Flophouse or the individual apartment buildings within the ADI complex. It will feel like significantly longer, even for characters with fully accurate internal clocks. Travel outside of these bounds will be impossible, even with the use of supernatural abilities. The network will be fully operational; though, not the regular internet or anything beyond the internal ADI network. Characters will also receive periodic messages from help@adi.com begging for help, even as they order everyone to shelter in place.
  
  Characters who are outside their homes when the snow starts will find they're able to get inside just fine, but will not be able to get out again. Characters may be trapped with people who are not their standard roommates/at their usual housing, if they're unlucky (or lucky).
  
  
• CHASM (21-24 February) - The first character(s) to break through the snow barrier will feel an especially powerful weight fall upon them before there's suddenly just… nothing. The snow walls are gone. Even if another character was in the middle of digging through, the snow is just there one minute, then gone the next. Characters will experience a profound sense that they have missed something. This may dissipate within a day or maintain over several days. Anyone trying to question residents of the city will receive confusion and incredulity, but no answers. There is no indication that anyone seemed to notice the walls of snow. Even some of the natives at ADI will be perplexed. All non-native NPCs and some native NPCs will have experienced the same thing as the PC characters.
  
  
• STUCK (21-28 February) - The need to be doing more than they can will be ever-present for all NPCs and player characters. Those who would choose to eschew responsibilities at work or try to reprioritize will find that there is always something in need of doing that is important to them, to the point where new problems may seem to arise in impossibly, almost cartoonishly quick succession. Tasks and problems can be mundane matters related to work, building repair, and living spaces; as well as minor supernatural occurrences similar to past Dogtown TDM prompts (players are welcome to make up small supernatural encounters; anything that would affect other characters beyond a single thread should be submitted as a player plot). Characters may find themselves feeling mentally foggy and struggling to focus on core issues in the face of this inundation of needs from the people and environment around them, and may fall sick from overwork. These effects will overlap with both the Chasm and Sink prompts.
  
  
• SINK (24-28 February) - Characters who find themselves falling into one of the dunes will end up in what appears to be a vertical tunnel that is definitely too high to climb back out of, regardless of how tall the dune actually seemed to be when they were on top of it. The temperature of the sand is very cold and in addition to possible suffocation, characters may find themselves slowly freezing. Struggling or rescue attempts will quickly make the walls of the tunnel unstable. Additionally, the tunnel may not be exactly straight, depositing characters slightly or more than slightly off of their original falling point.
  
  

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Comments

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale's first point of order is to follow up the tail end of "without your consent" with a little obviously. It's vaguely scandalized.

Whether that's taking token offense at the thought that he might have thought differently or offense at the overall concept that someone, somewhere, even Crowley himself, might hypothetically believe Crowley would stoop that low, well, that's the mystery.

He tries to picture a scenario where he finds Crowley horrifying or frightening or whatever it is in particular that they say the Web is all about. Nothing in the realm of possibility comes to mind.

His second point of order is equally grave and relevant. ]

Six thousand years, and all of the sudden everyone cares whether I'm in good shape. [ The audacity. Goodness. ] If you weren't you, Crowley, I might be insulted.

[ Which is to say, he is in every capacity deflecting to buy time. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[A handful of months away from home don't wipe out a few millennia of Aziraphale taking frequent opportunities to remind Crowley that he's a demon. He's never entirely sure what exactly Aziraphale might think him capable of.

But that isn't the important part. The important part is the sharp look he shoots at Aziraphale for the second comment.]

You bloody well know that's not what I meant.

[He's not sure if it's more insulting to be lumped in the same category as Gabriel, or for Aziraphale to think he'd ever think — let alone say — something unkind about his body.

He knows a deflection when he sees it, though.]

You're exhausted, we both are. If there's a threat waiting out there...

[He gestures angrily towards one of the windows, deciding to let Aziraphale finish the sentence for himself.

If there's a threat, one of them needs to be in a condition to actually do something about it, and Aziraphale is the only one of them that really could be, right now.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Oh, Crowley's no fun when he's exhausted and cooped up and half dying. It's almost like it's rude to go from "I understand you won't commit acts of terror upon my mind" directly to implying that he's being rude about looks.

Can't win them all.

Ought to have a great deal more care about fouling up something he's been trying to get better about. And yet. He's got his own foot in his mouth again. ]

The answer to a hypothetical danger out there is not to let something dangerous have run of things in here.

[ In the apartment, or in his mind, or when it's all built up and there's only one target who he happens to be very fond of. Do you hold yourself to a strict double standard where your friend feeding on you is wholly acceptable but the other way around doesn't even merit discussion, or are you normal.

He's always been too talented at digging up and hoarding bits of knowledge for his own good. That's half the problem. The odd sense of kinship. The way that it fits. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[The problem with being exhausted is that even annoyance is hard to maintain, no matter how much he might like to hold onto it, rather than sinking into something closer to despair.

Tired resignation might be the best he can manage.]

They're already here, angel.

[They can pretend all they want, but if the Entities can exert so much influence, enough to keep them trapped and drain them, he doesn't think there's all that much difference, whether Aziraphale were to feed.

It will only make a difference to them.]

I know it's not — what you want. It'll make it a bit worse in the long run, the hunger, but it's not so bad, really.

[As much as he'd like to lie to make it seem easier than it is, he won't do that to Aziraphale either.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Too much to hope for, maybe, after everything. A world without eyes on them. However short-lived their intention to stay in it. It's unbecoming for an angel to kick up a fuss about free will, though, of all creatures. It's also unbecoming for an angel to feed an eldritch manifestation, and he's really not sure what the ramifications might be.

He does want to do it. He doesn't expect it to feel bad, setting aside feeling terrible after. That's half the problem.

And the worse the hunger gets, the smaller the part of him worried about all that gets. Which he of course worries about in turn, but only so much, because between all of it and what's happening now, it's taking much less to reach capacity.

Which is all hard to articulate. He's never had to try to articulate anything like it before. Crowley understands already, likely as anything, between being in the same proverbial boat and knowing him.

Still. ]

I want to break you open. I want to pull your thoughts out and rifle through them. Keep all the interesting bits. There would be a lot of those. I know that. Only--

[ Normal openers to present to one's most cherished person in the universe while staring into a mug of tea and pretending to have steady hands. ]

At a certain point, I do believe it's better not to start at all than to find out I won't be able to stop at a reasonable boundary.

[ He's set a poor enough emotional harm precedent in this friendship as it is.

You are both slowly dying in your living room but go off king ]

[demonicmiracle]

[There are, sometimes, situations that make Crowley aware that there's something fundamentally wrong with him, whether by dmeon or angel or even human standards. It doesn't necessarily bother him to be reminded, but it can be jarring when it comes unexpectedly.

Like, for example, how his mouth goes dry and skin gets warm at Aziraphale talking about breaking him open.

Thank someone that Aziraphale is busy looking at his tea, sparing Crowley from having to worry about what he might see in his expression if he were to look up. It's also lucky that it's perfectly reasonable to need a moment with that information, even if a normal person would probably need that moment to stop being freaked out, not — whatever it is Crowley is feeling.

He exhales roughly, glancing away from Aziraphale to stare at the white outside the window.]

Bit insulting to think I couldn't stop you myself, isn't it?

[There are about a thousand other things he wants to say, but that seems the least incriminating and the most likely to help convince Aziraphale.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale: I think I want to break you and mentally and spiritually consume you which is a problem.

Crowley: This awaken something in me to be dealt with later. ]

I seem to recall... [ Recall...... recall what. No, he knows. He just needs a minute.

It's dreadful when bickering takes up energy like this. Is Crowley struggling? Must be. He was just quite injured. All the more reason to make him see reason faster.

Stubborn thing. ]

I seem to recall you noting that the both of us are in a bit of a pickle. Now, if you've got nowhere to run and you can't use me to-- to handle things in turn. Which I do believe you've also said.

[ Local tired pedant trying to divest brain cell rights.

This is no fun. Go figure. ]

Well, I think that rather does leave you at a tactical disadvantage.

[demonicmiracle]

[Shockingly, the implication that Aziraphale could physically overpower him does not help with the 'I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me' problem, but if the past couple of millennia have taught Crowley anything, it's how not to get distracted by how he feels about Aziraphale.]

If I didn't know how to handle someone more powerful than me, I'd not have lasted those first few years in Hell.

[It's an underhanded tactic, to use this particular argument, because it just so happens to be something he doesn't ever talk about, especially not to Aziraphale. When he talks about Hell, it's to complain about paperwork or assignments or Hastur popping up announced. Sometimes he'll mention the threat of Hell, but he never talks about how bad it really is, or what it used to be like.

So this is brand new information, offered up on a platter.

He draws his legs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa, as if settling in, getting comfortable.]

Don't forget that I'm good at my job, Aziraphale.

[For all the laziness and complaining, when he sets his mind to it, he knows how to tempt someone, how to convince them to just give in to what they want.

What Aziraphale wants is to feed, and Crowley knows him better than he's known any human he's tempted.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Why does everything have so many layers to parse and consider? Apart from the fact that he's largely responsible for that. A mystery for another time. Or he'll discorporate and not have to deal with it at all. Which is much more ideal than he'll admit, in the most insincere and petty fashion. It has a broad appeal right now, not thinking.

Anything that keeps him from obsessively circling that first statement.

There's an uncharacteristic stillness that falls over him on hearing it. It happens, sometimes, that predator and prey lock eyes and spend a shared moment frozen in place. Rabbit in the corner, starved hound at the ready. Aziraphale didn't know a person could feel like both at once.

He thinks he may be insulted after all. Not entirely sure. It would take more digging than he'd like to bother with to pin it down. ]

Comports with your consent policy, does it. [ If he tells him that was cheating, if he says it was unfair outright, it adds too much stock to the fact that it was dangerously effective information-dealing. Can't have that. Can't let himself-- let himself sink his teeth into it and wait for more.

Aziraphale sets his mug on the end table, steels himself enough to start levering out of his chair. ] I think I'll take my tea elsewhere.

[ This is his own fault, really. Aside from being poor company, he should have shut things down the moment Crowley brought the matter up. That's always been what he's good at, after all.

He will simply go off to wither away in privacy like a melodramatic bitchy housecat. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[The reaction isn't exactly shocking. He knows Aziraphale more than well enough to know that he doesn't like being toyed with, but more than that, Crowley knows he's upset because it worked.]

S'free will, we both know I can't make you do anything.

[It's the same concept of free will that he's always worked with when doling out temptation, and right now, even if he wanted to actually Tempt anyone, he couldn't. The manipulation is unkind, which is another reason why he's not shocked that Aziraphale is upset with him, but the whole thing is transparent enough that it barely even counts as manipulation.

Crowley isn't letting it drop that easy, either, pushing himself to his feet as soon as Aziraphale is up. It's hardly new, trailing after Aziraphale with an argument.

And if he sways a little upon standing no he doesn't.]

Would you do it if it was someone else?

[He's curious, but the question also serves a purpose. This will work better if he knows exactly what Aziraphale is opposed to. Whether it's feeding at all, or feeding on him.

They'll require different arguments, after all.]

[oldbookshop]

I am not doing anything to anyone. Not to a stranger. Certainly not to you.

[ Good, civil angels do not stalk into the kitchen and then have a fit or toss a mug. They don't. They don't snap at their weakened, well-intentioned friend. No loss of temper whatsoever.

Whether he qualifies as a good angel or not these days, he is still civil.

Civil and in control and composed. Leaning on the counter solely for the aesthetic. ]

Now sit back down. If you fall over while I can't help you up, I'm going to be cross with you.

[ Like he is not most of the way to cross already. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[It's more about him, then, which he supposes is sort of fair, since he feels exactly the same about the concept of using Aziraphale to feed those damn things. He'd much rather terrify some stranger, and the only reason he hasn't is spite, not any sort of moral issue.

But it's a moral issue for Aziraphale, along with him being a stubborn bastard. Not to mention all those complicated feelings about God that he's sure this must be stirring up.

That doesn't stop Crowley stalking after him, leaning against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, trying to look casual about it, for whatever the effort is worth.]

Oh, please, you're already cross with me.

[It almost seems like an understatement, honestly, although a better word might be upset, since he knows it's not entirely anger that's being directed his way.]

How much longer do you reckon we can keep this up? Can you even tell me how long it's already been? 'Cause I certainly can't.

[It can't have been that long, they'd have run out of food already if it was, but it feels like it's been weeks.]

[oldbookshop]

[ He loves the most frustrating person across multiple universes. How could this have happened?

Not even infuriating, just-- frustrating. Clever and creative and improvisational and very, very good at arguing. At asking questions.

Aziraphale sets his mug down for a few moments, flexing his fingers to ease the slight stiffness of a grip that verged on too tight. That and for the sake of having something to do, some little outlet. He doesn't need to glance back towards the nearest window to know it'll look the same as it has been. It's as good as memorized. No sign of anything. He doesn't need to glance back towards Crowley to picture his expression, either. ]

The fluidity of time... coagulates now and then. Perception of it, I mean. I imagine you're very familiar. Lots of funny human theories about it.

[ Even the corrupted messages coming through from the ADI aren't anything like routine. Days, weeks, he really couldn't say off the top of his head. Which he's sure Crowley knows full well. ] Hardly matters.

[demonicmiracle]

[The most infuriating person who's still willing to give Aziraphale time to work through whatever he's currently working through. It'd make more sense not to, to keep pushing until Aziraphale snaps at him, one way or another, but as much as Crowley wants to get him to do something, it isn't worth completely ruining their friendship.]

But we're not human, are we? [They might be stuck in these useless human bodies, with the powers stripped from them, but it doesn't actually make them human.

And for all that time can become sort of background noise, Crowley's always had a good internal clock when he's trying.] We've still got to eat, though, and the food's going to run out eventually. Or the power'll go out and then we'll really be fucked.

[They'd have to huddle for warmth and it would be Awkward.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Postulation. Hypotheticals. Those never do run out. He should know. He's trying to avoid a tidy little cyclone of what-ifs in most of his waking hours right now.

There's probably a point Crowley means to make. He's not worried that he won't hear it at this juncture. Chances are he will. ]

If it were a matter of urgent circumstances, I would have healed you properly myself last month. [ Obviously. ] So could you just... could you hush. Please. For a minute.

[ "Could you hush" making a run for his worst sober argument point in history. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[The request has to be weighed up for a second or two, as Crowley decides whether or not to actually do it. He's not trying to be awful, he just thinks he's right, and that Aziraphale is being stubborn.

But that's not exactly all there is to it, and there's — something, about Aziraphale admitting that he would have healed him, if he could have.

There's also something about the fact that he's too exhausted to hold onto anger.]

Alright, angel.

[He's not going to apologize, but he'll stay quiet to let Aziraphale gather his thoughts.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale exhales his relief in one short huff. Even just a minute, that's-- good. It's better than nothing. Some easing of the constricted stone in his chest, and that may be the best he can hope for. If nothing else, scraping himself together a bit makes him feel less likely to say something regrettable.

Logically speaking, Crowley is coming from a reasonable place. Straightforward. Very better on our own terms. The logic of the matter doesn't really help settle things. Which probably isn't very fair. ]

It's not-- it's not that I don't--

[ Appreciate the gesture? Think Crowley knows precisely what he's offering? Want to take that offer on sight, very, very badly? A lot of things. He's supposed to be articulate. This is a disaster already. ]

The entire issue, it's... sailing between Scylla and Charybdis, you understand. Antithetical.

[ Terrifying, maybe, a little bit, in the sort of way he's always been ill-equipped to manage gracefully.

He can't pretend he hasn't ever enabled or contributed to harm across all of human history. He can't pretend that he hasn't arranged things in his own favor to get a book or a scroll or a bit of rare memorabilia to squirrel away solely for selfish reasons. He can't pretend it felt at all the same as this.

How many more steps removed from what they normally are does one get before they need to evaluate whether they're technically still an angel at all? ]

[demonicmiracle]

[There are plenty of ways that sentence could end and Crowley imagines all of them but comments on none, determined to stick to his word by giving Aziraphale the time to collect his thoughts.

Continuing to pick at the issue by keeping him on the back foot might have been fruitful eventually, but it was just as likely to have the opposite effect. He knows how stubborn angels can be.]

I'm not exactly keen on it either, whatever — whatever secrets I've got, I'm not keeping them for a lark.

[There are plenty things he hasn't told Aziraphale, because there's thousands of years between the two of them and not every single thing needs to be shared, but those aren't secrets. He'd share them if asked, if it came up, so he doubts the Eye would be satisfied by them.

The secrets, the things he desperately doesn't want Aziraphale to know, would likely satisfy the fear aspect of it. He remembers what it felt like under the lights, the fear of judgement, of being exposed and weighed up and judged unworthy.

So no, he's not eager to share. He just knows he has to.

Crowley sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, his voice softer when he speaks again.]

Are you worried about falling?

[Does he think that doing this will be enough to cause that? He can see the logic, serving someone other than God isn't exactly what angels ought to be doing.

God isn't here, though, that much is obvious, and things are getting a little dire.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Ah.

The gracious ordeal of being known is that, at least in some cases, Crowley doesn't require a translator. ]

It's a waste of breath worrying about whether Heaven is looking for ways to hatch that particular egg while we're adrift in an offshoot universe, I'm sure. [ The mortifying ordeal of being known is that he can't especially hope that putting it in his best "I do hope it doesn't rain at the regatta" tone has done him any good. He's made time to worry anyway. His first best talent.

The Almighty isn't here. By all accounting, She was either gone or keeping things very hands-off at home, too. Or maybe She got back into office and dropped the two of them here like scruffed kittens, out of the way for war to proceed apace. To be dealt with later, when they can't interfere.

No one's place to know her mind, of course. Ineffable as ever.

He'd like to not assume the worst. But he'd like a lot of things. Not to be a glorified funnel for an ancient terror likely to prey on his only friend, primarily. ]

But I don't suppose there's a threshold at which you intend to stop arguing with me in either case.

[demonicmiracle]

M'not sure that's how worrying works.

[Not that he's ever worried about anything, since he's too cool and calm and detached for that kind of thing, but if he did, he'd know that worry hardly listens to things like logic. God being absent won't take away a long ingrained fear, no matter how much Crowley might wish it could.

(Not because he wants Aziraphale to fall, he's never wanted that. He just doesn't want him to live in fear, when Crowley is fairly certain that God has long since stopped caring.)]

If you can look at me and honestly tell me that you'd not be suggesting the exact same thing were it the other way around, then I'll drop it.

[If Aziraphale truly thinks it's unnecessary and a terrible idea, then he'll be able to tell Crowley exactly that. But he suspects that isn't the case. Aziraphale knows it's necessary, he's arguing because he doesn't want to do it, not because he thinks it wouldn't work.]

[oldbookshop]

Matter of perspective. [ The perspective where Aziraphale decides that's how it works and pretends that's how it works until the last possible moment. Which was always nice for things like stoves, back when stoves listened to him. Not so nice for things like forced eldritch hunger.

Well. No matter. The Eye is probably fond of selecting patrons with a certain level of that sort of fear. Just goes to show.

The matter more at hand is to weigh his odds of successfully lying to Crowley's face in this moment. They're not very good odds. There's no appeal to adding the guilt of the attempt to the stack of unpleasant things they're cultivating, either. So he can't look at Crowley and say he wouldn't be arguing for the same thing from the other end, ultimately. He's busy not being able to look at Crowley at all. ]

It's both ways around. The Web is just prissy. [ Is "it's both ways around" a sentence that's real? He is tired and doesn't care.

Never mind that it would definitely be different if the situation were reversed, for Reasons.

Aziraphale still takes a considerable pause to mull it over. And to deliberately put things off, as metaphorical nails in coffins go. ]

Best get it over with.

[ The sooner it's done, the sooner he can start working out how to avoid Crowley after the weather breaks, considering they live together. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[As far as Crowley is concerned, the nail is in the coffin the second that Aziraphale doesn't turn to look at him after he offered an easy out. Either he could have denied it, and Crowley would've dropped the subject, or he could have lied, and Crowley would have left it, too. Which may have made the whole exercise pointless, but he'd have known, if Aziraphale had lied to him, that the horror of doing this outweighed everything else, and he wouldn't have been cruel enough to push, had that been the case.]

At least neither of us got stuck with the Slaughter.

[He still would have offered, but he knows that taking secrets is nothing compared to how reticent Aziraphale would have been to actually cause physical harm.

Hypotheticals don't really help anyone, though, so he keeps any further thoughts to himself as he waits for Aziraphale's decision, already fairly confident he knows what it is.

The worst part is that winning the argument brings little relief, now that he has to give what was offered.]

Thank you. [It's a horrible thing to thank him for, but he wants to make it clear that he knows how much of a struggle this is for Aziraphale. He's thanking him for not fighting it more, and for being willing to look after himself, even if it means some discomfort for Crowley.] What's the best way to do this? Do I tell you something, or will it only work if you drag it out of me?

[The Web tends to give him a sense of what would be satisfying, a little nudge at the back of his mind. It's probably similar for Aziraphale.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Achievement unlocked: eye contact, but only because Aziraphale is offended enough to shoot a warning look Crowley's way. He'd rather lose all the privileges of this strange, cautious new domesticity they've been relaxing into than hear gratitude right about now.

Better done now than in a few more days when it would come as something wholly unexpected, twice as unpleasantly forced, and possibly... lacking a certain element of control, yes. But there's no version of the story where the frog ought to be thanking the scorpion.

Proper anger isn't something he takes to very well or very often. Heavenly Wrath or what have you. Aziraphale doesn't find it so hard to dredge up a strain of it now. Not at himself, strictly speaking, not at Crowley, but more at the overall situation.

Every day, he reaches a new level of unbecoming. ]

The ends matter more than the means. I'll manage. [ He has an idea where he's going. So long as he's getting hold of something true. The nature of trading in knowledge and secrets and surveillance tends to come with a bit of a drag folded in to start with.

On some level, the hope was that if they got to the point of sharing important and close-held secrets, he'd be in a position to stow Crowley's away solely for himself. To keep them. So much for that. ] You might be more comfortable sitting for it.

[ Well. Physically.

How hard can someone compartmentalize literally everything while actively asking probing questions for dark purposes, the real upcoming trial. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley draws back slightly at that look, more out of surprise than any sort of fear. He's never felt much fear around Aziraphale, at least not because of him — fearing something happening to him is a different thing entirely — which might go some ways to explain why he's liked spending time with him so much.

Especially at the start, when he was fresh out of Hell and had forgotten what it was like to not be constantly on guard.

That's why it's best to do this now, before it gets worse. He doesn't know how bad the hunger might end up getting, how hard it could be to maintain control.]

If this is gonna turn into a Listen with Mother thing, I'm retracting my offer.

[He manages a grin, trying for a little levity as he pushes himself off from the doorframe to saunter back into the living room. Maybe if he can keep things lighter, Aziraphale won't feel so wretched about the whole thing.]

Or you could play therapist.

[He glances back over his shoulder with a silly waggle of his eyebrows, as if any of this is actually funny.

But he sits like a normal person, at least, rather than laying himself down on the sofa.

If the joking around doesn't have the exact desired effect, maybe it'll just annoy Aziraphale instead, and that's still better than him being distressed about what's coming.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Annoyance is a small price to pay for another few seconds to breathe. Or in any event, annoyance is a currency they frequently trade in.

At least there's less the niggling worry about Crowley being unsteady on his feet. That's something. They're both too tired for all that. ]

If you're waiting to hear that you're funny, you'll be there until you grow roots.

[ Normally if he happens to be deeply upset about something he can sort of-- not do people. Hole up for a while in the middle of something familiar and well-loved and pull himself together.

Crowley is barely people after all this time, in a good way, but he's oftentimes in the category of company. People adjacent.

Aziraphale misses his shop. He's homesick for it in a way he's maybe never felt for Heaven, or not for a long while, especially as desire for comfort goes versus sources of strain.

Nothing to be done for that. No point dwelling. Better to rip off the bandage.

He leaves his tea in the kitchen. Very primly sits back down himself, hands folded. ]

You don't talk about Hell very much. We can start there. [ One of the ultimate in planted conversational seed backfires for resident demons.

Letting the hunger take the reins is actually sort of a nice way to not have to live in himself as much in this moment. If it weren't objectively awful and likely to leave him sick to his stomach, it might be worth keeping in the repertoire. ]